


Past Mistakes

by Gothams_Only_Wolf



Series: Drabble Pack [1]
Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Tragedy, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Study, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-14
Updated: 2017-12-14
Packaged: 2019-03-05 20:29:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 298
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13395651
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gothams_Only_Wolf/pseuds/Gothams_Only_Wolf
Summary: Drabble Prompt, Angst: "I thought we were friends."





	Past Mistakes

**Author's Note:**

> I've been meaning to post my Tumblr snippets here on Ao3 and I thought I'd start with the most recent! 
> 
> I normally don't _do_ angst but Illya obliged for the prompt. 
> 
> Enjoy with care, I guess?

* * *

Illya's hands shook as he stared at the blood dripping from his hands, sticky and slick as it hit with an ugly _-plup!-_ against the concrete of his cell.

"I thought we were _friends_." Solo, his Cowboy—how could he have known that Illya's loyalty **was** with him? That this was a plot by Waverly to trick the enemy, to trick the USSR into thinking he was their agent. "I guess the red that stains your hands stains everything else, doesn't it, Peril." 

Illya's jaw had been bandaged shut at the time, leaving him with only his eyes and his hands, still faintly red with blood. It only damned him further and now... Now his Eagle and his lithe Fox were in holding cells on either side of him. 

Neither trusted him. 

They'd never trust his motives if he got them out, no matter their past, their shared-No. 

He stood and roared, his fist slamming into the cold iron of the door with a heavy thud. Illya struck again and again, sliding down the door and curling into a ball as he sobbed silently. His tears cut a path through the mud and blood on his face and left cleanliness in it's track. 

Clean. Warm. _**Loved**_. 

He'd had it all, all of it and then some and Waverly had ruined it all. 

Fine. He wanted an enemy? 

Illya would give him one of his own making.

* * *

They called him the Black Peril. 

It hid blood better, went the rumor, it hid gun powder, it hid weapons... It hid his brutality and ferocity. 

It signaled death long before it struck. 

Only two people, both too late and truly ill-fated, learned that the color wasn't made for death but a life-long mourning that only reached them with his dying breath.

**Author's Note:**

> Comment, complain, ect.


End file.
